A good Scare
by just-your-average-kid
Summary: In Twilight, when Bella asks her Mother if she talked to Edward during her week-long coma, Renee reflects on the first time she met Edward Cullen, and her interpretations on his and Bella's relationship. RENEE POV. sweet little one-shot that I thought up.


**Disclaimer: Can you imagine if a FanFiction actually said: "Hi, this is Stephenie Meyer. Now, I know I **_**should**_** be working on Midnight Sun, but instead, I'm wasting my talents writing useless Fan Fictions. That would be so funny. Hehe**

New Faces

**RENEE POV: **_(starting from page 467 of Twilight)_

I squinted my eyes in confusion. Clearly, Bella's numerous injuries had done something to her mentality.

"Bella, honey, you hate Forks." I reminded her softly.

"It's not so bad." _Not so bad? Its twenty-four hours of solid rain, that's what it is! It couldn't possibly be considered as 'not so bad'. Unless..._

My eyes strayed once more to the boy from before, Edward Cullen, who was now peacefully sleeping on the recliner in the corner of the room. My eyes flashed to Bella, then back to him again. I made the same journey a couple of times, appraising _his_ still, sleeping figure, and my daughter's open-book eyes. I certainly had my suspicions, but still, I had to ask.

"Is it this boy?" I whispered, jerking my head toward him, though I knew he was asleep and wouldn't hear me talking about him.

She deliberated for a moment, opening and closing her mouth as like she was changing her answer. This fact only fuelled my raging curiosity.

"He's part of it," she finally admitted sheepishly. I knew it.

"So, have you had a chance to talk with Edward?" she asked innocently, too innocently. Much, much too innocently. I smiled awkwardly, and, though I was proud of myself for guessing their relationship so easily, I tried to hide my worry; Bella was awfully young to be in a relationship, and I could only remember too clearly my first encounter with this boy, this Edward Cullen...

FLASHBACK!

I could barely speak – scratch that, I could _not_ speak; the phone was clutched too tightly in my hand, pressing firmly against my ear. It took a moment for my brain to register that the pressure was actually painful, and then another instant to remind myself how to loosen my grip.

The man on the phone – baring an impossibly beautiful, flowing voice, I noted – had just informed me that my Bella, my baby, had just fallen down three flights of stairs and out a window. She had come to see me after having an argument with Charlie, and slipped on her way downstairs in the hotel.

I gasped, but still couldn't help but laugh darkly to myself. _Same old Bella_, I muttered, instantly angry with myself for making light of the situation for even one second. My poor darling!

I rushed helplessly to my car, my fingers shaking as I fumbled with my large jangle of keys.

"I'm coming sweetheart," I promised out loud, finally managing to start the ignition and speed off towards the hospital where my daughter was being treated.

I scurried through the wide glass doors and skidded to a stop in front of the receptionist. I couldn't even imagine what my face might've looked like -- like a petrified mother who may or may not have lost her only daughter to an act of sheer clumsiness. The woman behind the counter peered up slowly, looking utterly bored by my presence.

"What room is Isabella Swan in?" I belted breathlessly, furiously anxious.

My eyes were wild with anticipation as she clicked – much too slowly for my liking – at her computer, in search of the name.

"Room 402," she answered in a dry tone, "But they're not expecting any visitors at the moment, perhaps you should—"

"I'm her Mother, for crying out loud!" I very nearly yelled, earning me an apologetic glance from the secretary that I barely saw; I was much too busy bolting for the elevator with my new information. Room 402.

"Oh, Bella!" I cried as soon as I was able to fling the wooden door out of my way, slamming it brusquely against the side of the wall. I glanced back momentarily to make sure that I hadn't done any damage to the wall, and my attention turned swiftly back to my daughter when I decided that I could worry about that later. I ran to sit on the edge of the bed, my mouth opening in shock at what I saw.

My darling Bella, my sweetheart, was strapped to so many different machines that I couldn't even identify half of them. She was covered from head to toe in bruises, scrapes, and, where bones appeared to be broken, plaster. I listened to the beeping of her heartbeat, projected on the silver screen above my head, and sighed. She was, at the very least, alive. Her soft little eyelids were closed, and I recalled, somewhere in the kafuffle that was my phone conversation with the Doctor, that they had to keep Bella sedated because of her many injuries.

I grasped her hand – cold as ice – and kissed it softly, brushing my face with it to wipe away my tears.

"Oh, Bella," I moaned, touching her bruised face gently, trying not to cause her any pain anywhere, "What have you done to yourself?"

It was only then that I realized that I was not alone in the room, and the sudden revelation sent me jumping off of the bed in surprise. He sat so still, so calmly, that, in my haste to see Bella, I didn't 

even notice him at first. But there he sat, on a small folding chair that had been pressed up next to the bed, holding the hand that was not occupied by me in both of his. He was looking at me with a strange expression – friendly, yet guarded at the same time. I cocked my head to the side, wondering if I even knew this boy. There was a small silence in which neither of us said anything; the boy in question still held Bella's hand tightly in his, unwilling, in would seem, to let it go.

He smiled; the way his lips curved perfectly nearly incapacitated me.

"Hello," he greeted, seeming surprised that I had not said anything yet.

I was sure I had never met him before. "Who are you?" I asked, still perplexed by the way he gazed at Bella with such tenderness, such emotion. Had I really missed this much; was Bella purposefully keeping the knowledge of this boy from me? Or perhaps, was she even aware that he looked at her like this, like...like...

I choked on my own thought.

"My name is Edward Cullen," he said politely, rising fluidly to cross the room and shake my hand, "You must be Renee."

I nodded, assessing the rest of him for the first time. I had to admit, though grudgingly, that Bella certainly chose her men well. Edward was exceptionally good looking – a beautiful shade of bronze hair, gleaming white teeth, and eyes that seemed to be toned in a rich, warm gold. His skin was very pale, and he had dark circles under his honey sweet eyes, making it obvious that he had not slept in a while.

I smiled, slightly touched by the fact that this boy – Edward Cullen – had actually lost sleep to Bella's severe injuries.

Suddenly, another fact hit me, fast and hard.

"How do you know who I am?" I asked.

"Bella talks about you all the time," he replied, his voice almost as velvety soft as the man on the phone's, the man who had given me the bad news.

"She does?"

He nodded absently, his attention already back to the face of the unconscious girl in front of us. He looked at her with a strange mixture of emotions on his face: sadness, worry, guilt, and... I couldn't even think it; the word got stuck in my throat like a giant lump. I swallowed roughly, looking back at Bella as an excuse to get my mind off the troubling words.

"So," I asked, trying to sound conversational as I brushed Bella's hair carefully out of her face. "How long have you known Bella?"

"Well," he mused, "I met her on her first day at Forks High School; she sat next to me in Biology class." Then he chuckled, as though enjoying some private joke.

"Oh," I replied, still attempting to keep my tone casual, and keep my true curiosity from boiling over. "So, you've been friends ever since?"

"Not necessarily 'ever since'," He said, frowning.

"Oh?" I persisted, concentrating hard to keep my eyes from drifting towards his face to appraise his expression.

"Well, we went through a period of time where we didn't really talk that much." He said simply, "Then I started to... pay more attention to her, and it all pretty much too off from there."

He seemed to choose his words carefully, like he was telling the truth while still withholding information. That kind of cryptic talk was infuriating.

"So, you like her then?" I asked, giving up my battle to eye him intensely. He shouldn't have needed to say anything – the answer was crystal clear in his gleaming topaz eyes. I prepared myself for the worst, sucking in a deep breath.

"I certainly do," he answered, not a single tangible ounce of doubt coloring his tone. "More then I could ever say. Bella's an amazing girl: smart, beautiful,"—he smiled—"reckless as she is. Very perceptive too; I'm told she gets that quality from you."

My stomach churned. He loves her. He doesn't just like her, he loves her. I wondered relentlessly about the flip side of the duo.

"And what about Bella? Does she think you're all that too?"

He cast his eyes downward, and, though Bella was asleep, I sensed that he was gazing right into her eyes, seeing her gaze right back.

"I can never be sure," he answered thoughtfully. "After all, I'm no mind reader," he threw in, lightening the mood with a brief chuckle. He sat down on the edge of the bed again, taking her hand once more, kissing it gently.

I stood very still for a long time; watching him caress her hand, stroke her face and hair, always with the most careful of touches, kiss her forehead, and whisper words into her ear that were unintelligible to me. I felt like there should be some kind of background music playing for such a scene; something gentle and promising for Edward Cullen's perspective, and something sad, worrisome, and hopeful for me; after all, my Bella was so young for a boy to be looking at her like she's more than just a pretty face.

I ended up choosing "You'll be in my heart" by Phil Collins for Edward, and "Landslide" by the Dixie Chicks for me, matching the lyrics that I could remember as accurately as possible. I wished to add a song in there for Bella's point of view, but she was, inconveniently enough, in a coma at the moment.

_Oh, Bella,_ I thought wistfully, _I wish you were here with me. Wake up soon, Sweetheart._

As my stomach heaved uneasily at the thought of Bella returning Edward Cullen's frightfully loving stares, I felt a sudden vibration from the inside of my pocket. I fished my cell phone out and glanced at the number on the screen. Phil.

"I have to take this," I said grudgingly, excusing myself from the room.

"Of course," Edward replied, "It was nice to meet you."

_Yeah,_ I wanted to say, _Meeting the boy who might swipe my only daughter from me has just been the cherry on top of my day._ The sarcasm sent acid into my mouth. I just smiled instead, closing the door behind me as I answered the phone.

REALITY!

"Well?" Bella persisted, pulling me from my memory, "Have you had a chance to talk with Edward?"

"Yes," I said slowly, peering over my shoulder at his sleeping form, and then back to Bella. "And I want to talk to you about that."

"What about?" she asked

I cleared my throat. "I think that boy is in love with you," I accused, still keeping my voice barely over a whisper.

She cracked a smile. "I think so too,"

So, she _did_ know. Now this was getting _very_ interesting. "And how do you feel about him?" This information was crucial to my vision of the relationship. Clearly, I wasn't very good at concealing emotions, particularly curiosity; I'd have to work on that for future conversations.

She took a moment to answer; her eyes, meaning to look at nothing in particular, unconsciously drifted to him again, still sleeping soundly against the recliner. I waited as patiently as I could.

"I'm pretty crazy about him," she finally confessed. Her answer did not fully satisfy my hunger for information, but I was smart enough to realize that this was all I was getting for the moment.

"Well," I continued, obviously forcing the subject upon her, "he _seems_ very nice, and, my goodness, he's incredibly good-looking, but you're so young, Bella..." This is where I got to become a parent with Bella, because, if there was one thing I _knew_ about, it was men, and I felt almost duty-bound to make sure that _my_ daughter was aware of the deviousness that they all held inside of them. It was painful to think of Bella making the same mistake that I did at such a young age: complicating her life by marrying without common sense.

"I know that, Mom," she said. "Don't worry about it. It's just a crush."

A crush.

Of course! I wanted to slap my forehead for not recognizing this sooner. It was just a crush. My fretful mind hadn't even considered that alternative before. It was obvious that Bella liked this boy, but who's to say that within the next month there would be some other good-looking teenage boy sitting next to her. I must've been imagining the things I saw in Edward Cullen's eyes that day, my anxious mind playing tricks on me again. This was a fleeting love, and nothing more. None of the gooey, passionate emotions I'd thought I'd seen and felt in the atmosphere actually existed. It was just a simple trick of the mind, giving me a good, yet irrational, scare.

"That's right," I agreed, my mood suddenly brightening. I had my wonderful, precious daughter back with me, and everything was normal again. Well, apart from Bella's bandaged-up body, that is.

I sighed. I'd always been a nervous sort of person. With one final, satisfied glance at Edward Cullen, I checked the time, realizing it was much later than I thought it was. I was expecting a call from Phil at any time now, though I was reluctant to leave Bella, for fear that she might trip over something again and, eventually, pull herself away from me forever. I gulped back the worry that had begun to build in my throat, getting up to take the phone.

Like I said, Nervous Kind of Person.

**A/N: This was a very different kind of writing for me, and, though it was fun, I have to say that I miss my fluff. In any case, keep reviewing please! Like always, I only keep writing if I have proof that people are reading. And proof means reviews! Peace.**


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